His forehead wrinkled as he started making a bowl for me. He offered me noodles, two kinds of chicken, and a mix of vegetables.
“Anxiety?” he asked after handing me my food. “I thought you were comfortable with me at this point.”
I thanked him and started blowing on the steaming bowl. “I am but I still get nervous. I think I always will.”
“There’s nothing I can do to fix that?” He joined me on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. I slipped onto his side and he took advantage by placing a kiss on my neck. When I giggled, he pressed his lips on my shoulder for another peck.
“Tell me something about your past,” I decided while spinning noodles around my fork. “We ditched dating and went straight to sex. Until tonight, I didn’t know your family had a place this close to campus. I don’t even know where you come from.”
“Here and there,” he said in a bored voice.
When I gave him a face, he chuckled. He pressed his thumb on my chin to wipe away a bit of sauce. I watched him lick it off his finger.
“I promise you, my past isn’t interesting,” Weston said.
“Indulge me,” I teased as I bumped my shoulder against his.
“You first,” he deflected. “I don’t know much about you either. Besides the fact that you’re insanely talented in design, great at advocating for others, and have the world’s most incredible moan when you’re climaxing. Just the basics.”
My mouth formed in an “o” at his last statement and he leaned his head back to laugh, shaking the entire bed.
“Such a flirt,” I complained but wore a smile myself.
“Come on, Covee,” he encouraged while motioning to me with his fork. “I want to know more about the girl who’s entranced me.”
“Body and soul?” I joked under my breath.
When he gave me a confused look, I snorted and shook my head.
“I’m kidding. Let me think,” I said and popped a piece of chicken in my mouth. As I chewed, I ran through the things that made me. There was home, of course. Ari. Design. Fear. Hope.
“I don’t have anywhere to go in the spring,” I said, deciding to start off strong. “Summer either for that matter.”
Weston paused, holding a forkful of vegetables near his mouth. A string bean plopped into his plate as he asked, “What does that mean?”
I kept my eyes on my food. “Kind of got kicked out after high school. My parents weren’t the best people. Especially my dad. He was… difficult. Scary.”
Weston stayed quiet as he listened. The springs of the mattress squeaked as he moved close enough for our thighs to touch. My dark skin against his white contrasted nicely in the bright lighting of his room. I licked my lips and dared myself to continue. I wanted him to know.
“Playing mind games was his favorite,” I continued. My hand gripped my chopsticks hard enough for me to feel pain. I attempted to ground myself in the moment by feeling, hearing, and seeing. I felt the wood scratch my skin, heard the crickets outside of the house, and saw Weston’s blue blanket pooled at the bottom of the bed.
“He’d always change the rules,” I explained, and dared to look up. Weston stayed completely still with tense shoulders and a locked jaw. “Some days would be fine and we’d all be happy. And then, it’d change in an instant. I could make one mistake and he’d flip out. Something as simple as forgetting to lock the front door could lead to weeks of anger and silence and guilt tripping.”
“Did he…” Weston cleared his throat. “Ever hurt you? Hit you. Or…”
“Only mental games with me,” I assured with a shake of my head.
His shoulders visibly relaxed, but his jaw stayed tight, still angry on my behalf. “Still inexcusable.”
I nodded in agreement. “He made it hard for my mom and I to trust ourselves. Things we knew as fact weren’t anymore. He has this way about him. He could convince people of anything he wanted them to believe. I’ve never seen anyone twist words like he could.”
Weston placed an open palm on my back when I paused for a minute. I could feel my throat tightened like it always did when I spoke about this with therapists. It was hard to explain what my dad’s words did to me growing up. When I first began talking about it, people didn’t understand. My cousins called me soft. My grandma dubbed me sensitive. And my mother refused to entertain my sadness, even when she was going through the same thing. She ignored me because seeing me was like looking in a mirror for her. If she admitted I was in pain, then she’d have to admit she was taking part in my struggle.
“For a long time, I didn’t think I was anything. When I was taken out of high school to be homeschooled, I became no one. In a small house on the edge of the world I was trapped,” I confessed with a heavy breath. “I was drowning until I met Ari. Nearly gave up on life completely before I got an email saying I got approved for a grant to come to Westbrooke.”
I glanced at Weston’s kind eyes. He reached up to brush a few of my coils behind my ear. I smiled a little at the gesture.
“A part of me is always going to be stuck there,” I whispered. “With him. So, when I’m anxious, know it’s nothing you could ever cause. I’ve had every ounce of confidence gaslit away. My nerves will never be because of you.”
